


Wrong Way 'Round

by cosimascully



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosimascully/pseuds/cosimascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve never been very good about doing things in the right order– and this is no exception. Proposal fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Way 'Round

**Author's Note:**

> warning for mentions of alcohol

They’ve never been good about doing things in the right order.

Their first date, they watch the world burn, then have chips on Earth, afterwards.  With salty grins and sneaking looks across the table, it almost feels normal– except for the knowledge that in a couple billion years time, this planet will be dust.

Then, he’s gone and mucked it up again– telling her about _this little trick, a sort of way of cheating death–_ rights _as_ he’s bloody regenerating, and the world’s confused for a while, till she gets it all straight in her head.

And, afterwards, she’s told him she loves him and when he _finally_ gets around to finishing his sentence, she kisses him for the first time.  She reckons _most couples_ do it the other way round, but then again– they’re not ‘most couples.’

But _now_ , it seems as if they might get on the right track– no more timey-wimey mishaps– and have a ‘proper human life.’

But, well, the Doctor’s a bit of a renegade– not to good at doing thing proper– and she has to admit that she likes him like that.

~~~

She wakes up, bleary eyed, and the first thing she sees is the Doctor’s backside.

She smiles, rolling her eyes slightly, and tries to remember why she’s got this warm feeling in the pit of her stomach– like the day’s new, like the world is _special_.  But he’s too bloody distracting, and she abandons the thought.

“What’re you doin’?” she asks, and he spins around.  He’s got nothing on, of course, and he’s by their dresser– about five or six feet away from the bed– and is rummaging through his clothes, through the drawers.

“Lookin’ for something,” he mutters, and turns back to his searching.

And then it all comes _rushing_ back.

Going out to drinks, last night, with Jake and Gwen and Ianto; putting back a few too many; laughing and carefree as the music builds behind her eyelids. She can feel him, eager and ready to go– and she stumbles out of the pub with him, drags him back to the flat.  Things get blurry, after that, but she remembers him pressing her ‘gainst the kitchen door, groaning into her mouth as her tongue skims across his, and then they’re upstairs, on the bed, and _god,_ he’s doing all sorts of things with his mouth and hands.  The memories trail off, after that, and here she is, struggling to put the missing pieces back in place.  She doesn’t like forgetting anything, _especially_ a shag with the Doctor– even if they’ve done it too many times to remember, and will do it even more.

“D’you remember any of last night?”

“Drinking.  Lots of drinking,” he mutters, but he’s only half paying attention– he’s moved on from the dresser to the clothes on the floor.  She wonders what he could have _possibly_ lost that might’ve ended up in her knickers– or maybe he’s just making excuses to handle them.  “And dancing at the pub.  And then _dancing_ here.”  He takes the time to waggle her eyebrows at her.  “It’s all sort of fuzzy after that.”

“Figures,” she mutters.  “I forget the whole _dance_ , and you r’member all of it.”

He smirks.  “Superior biology, Rose.”

But then he’s frowning again, and picking up his trousers, searching the pockets.  “Dammit,” he mutters.

“Wha’?”

“I just– ‘s something I brought to the pub but shouldn’t’ve, and now I’ve gone and _bloody_ lost it.”  He kicks one of the dresser’s legs, then screws up his face in pain.  “ _Ow!”_

“Calm down, Doctor, I’m sure we’ll find i–” She breaks off, cos she’s just noticed something about her, something that is _different_ from last night.

On her left hand, _on her third finger_ , is a silver-y ring with a TARDIS blue stone set in the middle of it.  It’s beautiful– a gem that sparkles in the light of day, light and airy and elegant and _really_ , it’s perfect.  Her breath catches, and when she speaks, her voice is significantly higher than normal.  “Doctor?  What’s this?”

He freezes, then comes slowly over to her side of her bed.  He inspects her hand, the beautiful ring, and his face blanches.

“Oh,” he says.  “That’s where it got to.”

He looks at her bedside table, and on it is a velvety ring case– the kind blokes put _engagement rings_ in and pull out of their pockets whilst on bended knee.  She knows where this is going, but _bloody hell_ , could he do something else than just stand there stupidly, staring at her hand!?

Then– “Figures.  I messed it up again.”

“Doctor,” she says, keeping her voice calm– she’s very proud of that, not screeching.  “Are you saying– and let me get this right– that last night, when we were _hammered_ , you– you– _Proposed to me?”_

He gulps.  “I don’t remember, but yes, it looks like that.”

He sits down, slowly, on the bed, a bit shell shocked.  She’s feeling a bit frozen too.  “You were– planning on doing this, for a while?”

“Bought the ring… A week ago?  I was just waiting for the right moment– _bloody hell–_ I botched it, didn’t I?”

She looks at him, letting her mouth curve up, and then suddenly she’s laughing.  Laughing hard and long, and he’s joining in, clutching his side at the ridiculousness of this situation.  They’re both gasping for breath when their giggles come to a stop, and she reaches out her hand, cupping his face.  “Well, I don’t remember the actual question– ‘s almost like it didn’t happen.”

He lets a slow grin spread across his face.  She’s thought about this– him proposing– a lot, lately, but she certainly didn’t expect it like this– asking for a second time, completely naked, and with a bit of a hangover headache.  But it’s so completely _Doctor-ish,_ that she almost prefers it this way.

“Rose Tyler, will you marry me?”

And although she’s already answered once, the reply is still the same.

_Yes._


End file.
